


The Emancipation of Gord Vendome

by Augustus



Category: Bully (Video Games)
Genre: Coming of Age, Emotional Baggage, First Time, Kissing, M/M, Slow Burn, apparently this is what I write when I don't write harry/draco any more, rich boys in denial is a genre right?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:15:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25561924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Augustus/pseuds/Augustus
Summary: With a little help from Jimmy Hopkins, Gord learns to live the life that HE wants, not the one determined by his father.
Relationships: Jimmy Hopkins/Gord Vendome
Comments: 4
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

Three significant things happen during Gord Vendome's Sophomore year: Aquaberry releases their first sleepwear collection, Gord's father files for divorce from his mother, and Jimmy Hopkins arrives at Bullworth. The sleepwear is a little disappointing, if Gord is honest. The pyjamas are comfortable but uninspiring and the sleep-shorts are made from an artificial fabric that bears only a passing resemblance to silk. Hopkins is not as easy to categorise. He's scruffy and uncouth, but somehow oddly charming in a plebeian sort of way. Gord feels a delightful flush of wrongness whenever Hopkins stops to greet him in the yard.

The divorce, he doesn't speak of. Not even when his father packs up his suits and moves out of the family home.

The Bullworth gossip mill ensures that Gord knows a lot about Jimmy Hopkins weeks before the two boys actually meet. The story grows over time, as stories always do, until Hopkins has been expelled from a hundred schools, for crimes ranging from graffiti to murder to chewing gum in the halls. The reality, Gord thinks, is likely to be much more boring, but he is intrigued nonetheless by the thought of having a hardened criminal at his school. Gord's key motivation has always been the approval of those around him, so the thought of being so unfettered by others' opinions fills him with a mix of excitement and fear. He wonders what it would be like to refuse Derby's orders or to say 'no' to his father's face. Would the thrill of rebellion be worth it, or would it be the sort of freedom that really just tightens your chains? It's easier for poor people, he tells himself. They have so much less distance to fall. 

Gord finds himself watching Hopkins whenever he catches sight of the new boy between classes or walking about the Bullworth grounds. For a scruffy hooligan, he seems to draw a surprising amount of romantic attention from the girls. Within weeks of Hopkins's arrival, Gord has noticed him kissing three different girls—openly, too, as though he doesn't care if anyone judges him for failing to stick to the one paramour, or for making out with an unpopular girl. Gord has only kissed two girls, both socially sanctioned cousins and with an appropriate lapse of time in between. He thinks he might like to kiss Mandy or Lola, but what would his father say if he were caught slumming it like that?

(Gord's father has never been strictly faithful, as rumour has it, but he has never paired indiscretion with the wrong side of the tracks.)

Gord likes to think he saves Jimmy Hopkins's life the first time that they meet. He's often seen Hopkins fighting with the bullies, and usually faring quite well, but this time it's Russell himself pursuing Hopkins and Gord knows from personal experience just how hard that great oaf hits. Luckily, he runs about as well as you'd expect of a boy his size, so when Hopkins ducks into the courtyard of Harrington House, there are several long seconds when he's hidden from Russell's sight.

"In here," he tells Hopkins, grasping him by the collar and pulling him into a dense hedge of bushes that is conveniently close to hand. The branches scrape against his arms and chest and Gord feels a moment of regret as he pictures the damage likely to be wrought upon his Aquaberry vest. It's too late to turn back, though, so he simply lets out a huff of indignation and pulls Hopkins deeper into the plants. 

"What the hell?"

Gord glares at Hopkins and claps a hand over his mouth, quieting him bare moments before Russell comes thundering into the yard. It's bad enough that he's helping Hopkins; he has no intention of getting a beating for his troubles. Hopkins's lips are surprisingly plump and soft beneath Gord's palm. Perhaps that's the secret to his success with the Bullworth girls, although surely there has to be something more to it than that. 

He doesn't release Hopkins until he can be sure that the new boy isn't going to give their location away. Eventually the sound of Russell stomping about becomes more distant, and Gord reluctantly drops his hand, ready to gag Hopkins more violently if he looks as though he's going to put them both in danger. Instead, however, Hopkins merely looks at him with one eyebrow raised and an irritating smirk upon those two soft lips. Gord tries to respond with his most haughty of expressions, but he finds it difficult to maintain with dirt on his slacks and leaves tickling his ears. 

Eventually Russell gives up on finding Hopkins and leaves to bully someone else. Gord remains where he is for a while longer, though, just to be safe, and Hopkins stays as well.

"Thanks. I think," Hopkins says.

"You think? If it weren't for me, you'd be a bloodied mess."

Hopkins rubs at a twig-sized scratch on his bare forearm. "I'm a bloodied mess anyway. You spend a lot of time hiding in bushes?"

"Only when I'm saving paupers' lives."

"Oh, that's what this is, is it?" Hopkins frowns as the full meaning of Gord's words enters his ginger-stubbled head. "Whaddya mean, _pauper_?"

Gord doesn't respond verbally, but merely looks Hopkins up and down. He's expecting Hopkins to react angrily, but instead all he does is shake his head in an annoying show of apathy. If there's one thing Gord hates, it's being dismissed.

"Are you going to thank me, then?" he asks, his voice icy. He's not used to his lessers showing him this much disdain. 

"For saving my life?" 

He's amused. He actually has the _nerve_ to be amused. Gord feels frustrated, infuriated, and surprisingly intrigued. "Remind me not to bother in the future," he says.

"I don't know why you bothered this time." Perhaps Gord's anger is visible on his face, because Hopkins quickly clarifies, "I didn't mean it like that. But you don't know me. Why do you care if some bully's chasing me? Nobody else gives a damn."

"Russell Northrop is not just any bully. He's their leader, for one, and hits like a sledgehammer if you get in his way. Fight back, and they'll all be after you—either that, or you'll be dead."

"They all hate me anyway." Hopkins shrugs as well as he can in the confined and leafy space. "Dunno why."

"It's because you're not afraid of them. I've watched you standing up to them. They don't like that—not from us and certainly not from some new kid without a clique to back him up."

The eyebrow's up again. "You've watched me?"

Flustered, Gord occupies himself with brushing dirt from his trouser-clad thighs. "Poor word choice," he says, gaze lowered. "Noticed, perhaps. In passing. Really, there's no reason to make a fuss over a completely innocuous thing."

"Who's making a fuss?"

 _You are,_ Gord almost says, but he's projecting and he knows it, so he makes himself stay silent. 

He's rewarded with a look of calm curiosity when he eventually meets Hopkins's eyes. "This place is hell," Hopkins says. "I thought my old schools were bad, but Bullworth… It's really something else."

"Daddy says it'll make a man of me."

"Sounds like your… _daddy_ … hates you as much as mine hates me."

"My father _loves_ me!" Gord replies automatically. "You should see the size of my allowance."

"Fine," Hopkins says. "I don't know you. I just know you hide in bushes whenever bullies are around."

"I do not _hide_ ," Gord corrects him. "I might _seclude_ myself occasionally, but if you remember, it's _you_ I was secluding this time, and not myself. A favour you still haven't thanked me for, incidentally. Are they really so bad at manners on your side of the tracks?"

Hopkins shakes his head, but he smiles at Gord, and this time it's less of a smirk and more like something real. "Thank you," he says, and sticks out a hand. "Gord, right? Jimmy Hopkins."

Gord takes the hand that's proffered, marvelling at the way it engulfs his own, and shakes it briefly before parting the branches in front of him and ensuring the yard is empty before emerging from the hedge. Hopkins follows closely behind him, brushing dirt and twigs from a school uniform that doesn't look worth the effort. Gord can't see anyone at the Harrington House windows; hopefully nobody witnessed him saving the scruffy pauper or he'll never live it down. 

"I'm late for class," Hopkins says. "See you around, I guess."

Gord nods, about to let him leave when something occurs to him. "You said you didn't know me," he says. "Then how did you know my name?"

Hopkins grins and plucks a leaf from Gord's hair. "Noticed you in passing," he says.

This time, Gord lets him leave.


	2. Chapter 2

If Gord thinks that his rescue of Hopkins might initiate a kind of friendship, he is quickly proven wrong. The ruffian nods a greeting occasionally upon passing him, but that's as close as they get to speaking for quite some time. Gord struggles to understand it—that Hopkins could actually exist quite happily without him after having experienced Gord's charm and excellent breeding face to face. Hopkins is, of course, very busy, given all the girls he's been kissing. Gord thinks that perhaps _he_ should get busy, too.

Mandy Wiles is not what Gord's father would consider marriage material, but the only truly eligible girl at Bullworth is Pinky, and Gord knows better than to step on Derby Harrington's toes. Gord's not interested in anything serious, anyway. Vendome men tend not to marry until their forties, and Gord's about to hit sixteen. He wants a little fun, that's all. If Hopkins can go about kissing half the girls in the school, Gord sees no reason why he shouldn't spend time with just _one_ of them. And so he asks Mandy Wiles to accompany him to the cinema… and receives two black eyes in response, courtesy of Ted Thompson, who apparently considers Mandy his territory as much as the gym and the football field. 

(Gord expects to hear from his father—an admonishment, most likely, for looking outside their class. He checks the mail at Harrington House carefully, but all that arrives is the latest Aquaberry catalogue and a postcard from his mother, who is vacationing in France.)

The day after the beating, Gord is limping to class when he spots Jimmy Hopkins in the school forecourt, leaning against a brick wall and looking particularly bored and dishevelled, even by Hopkins standards. When he catches sight of Gord, he looks startled, and it takes Gord a moment to remember the current sad state of his otherwise perfect face. He shrugs, a little sheepish, expecting Hopkins to laugh at him, but the other boy merely looks curious and perhaps a little surprised. It's true that Gord rarely ventures out in public looking anything less than impeccable, but he's no precious flower and he doesn't much like the implication that Hopkins considers him too delicate to fight. Gord isn't quite the boxer that Bif is, but his technique is commendable and if he's bruised and scratched-up after his encounter with the jock leader then that's because Thompson fights dirty and not due to his own considerable skill.

Hopkins pushes himself away from the wall and, briefly, Gord thinks that the pauper's going to approach him, but then there's a fluster of movement and suddenly one of the bullies is standing right in front of Hopkins, staring right down at him as though issuing a challenge. The expected brawl doesn't ensue, however. Instead, Gord watches in amazement as the bully bends to kiss Hopkins, and as Hopkins seems to thoroughly enjoy it, right there out in the open, as though he has no shame. 

Gord's world is rather cloistered, but it's not that such things are new to him or that he has any moral objection to same-sex love. In fact, there are several noted "bachelors" within his parents' circle, none of whom are treated any differently due to their propensities, as long as their partners are chosen from the appropriate social pool. This, however—this is different. This is Hopkins kissing Trent Northwick, as though Northwick hasn't been attempting to knock Hopkins senseless practically every single day. If Hopkins wants to kiss boys as well as girls, well, that's up to Hopkins. But kissing a bully? Gord had foolishly presumed that the pauper had better taste.

Annoyed, he leaves them to it. For some strange reason, he performs poorly in the morning's classes.

Gord rarely uses his locker. There's something so very plebeian about storing your possessions in metal cages lined up in long blue rows. His room in Harrington House has only so much space, however, so there are a few rarely used items that he keeps in the main school building. He's in the middle of retrieving a near-new math textbook when a large hand surrounds the bicep of his right arm, right over a bruise he received in the previous day's fight. Despite himself, he lets out a soft yelp of distress, all his muscles tensing in expectation of another encounter with Ted Thompson or with one of his flunky jocks. 

"Hey, it's just me," a voice says behind him, and when Gord turns he finds himself looking into Jimmy Hopkins's broad and freckled face. 

He feels a moment of relief before remembering that he's annoyed with Hopkins. "Oh," he says, in his most dismissive tone of voice.

"Expecting someone else?" Hopkins leans in to examine Gord's face. "Gee, you look even worse from up close."

"Why, thank you. Coming from a man of your tastes, I'll take that as a compliment."

Hopkins frowns, obviously confused, but continues to bother Gord, undaunted. "Who'd you piss off?"

"What makes you think it was my fault?" Gord demands. "You've been here long enough to know what this place is like."

"Sure," Hopkins says, "but you usually stay on your own turf. Or did Harrington finally snap and take it out on you?"

"Derby would never do something so churlish." Gord turns away from Hopkins and shuts and padlocks his locker, keeping his tone as uninterested as possible as he adds, "It was Thompson if you're so determined to know."

"Thompson? What did you do—try it on with Mandy?"

Gord maintains an icy silence. To his annoyance, Hopkins laughs.

"What is she, a foot taller than you?"

"In case you haven't noticed, Hopkins, you're no basketballer yourself."

"I'm broad, though. Girls like that. You're all dainty and stuff. Don't they feed you at Harrington House?"

Gord turns back to glare at him. "We have a three-hat chef," he says.

"What's he do, wear them on top of each other?"

"They're not _hat_ hats," Gord begins, but realises he's wasting his time. "What do you want, Hopkins? Or were you just in the mood to insult me?"

"Why does everyone always think I want something?"

Gord stares at him. Is Hopkins really as dense as he seems, or is it all some kind of act? " _Everybody_ wants something," he says, slowly, as though he's talking to someone mentally challenged. Then again, perhaps that would explain Hopkins's taste in boys.

"I just want to get through the school year," Hopkins says. 

"That's simple."

"For you, maybe. If you mess up, you can just get your daddy to fix it."

Gord grunts dismissively. "He'd have to notice, first."

Hopkins, for all his faults, is good enough to ignore the comment. "Throw money at it, then. Or a lawyer."

"Do you need a loan, Hopkins? Is that what this is about? Because, if so, I'm a little short this week. I needed a new vest, you see, and several new shirts, and—"

Hopkins cuts him off. "I was just checking you were okay," he says. "That's it."

"You have a funny way of conveying your concern." Gord glares at him to ensure the small bubble of pleasure deep within him doesn't show upon his face. "Generally when people insult my appearance they have rather less pleasant motives."

"I said you were dainty," Hopkins says, "and you are." He grabs Gord's hand and raises it in front of them. "My hand's twice the size of yours, see?"

"I'm fine boned. Mummy says it's a sign of refinement."

Hopkins grins. "What does that make me?"

Gord smiles back before remembering that he's angry. "Well-suited to manual labour," he says quickly, wiping the expression from his face. "Perhaps that's why you're so drawn to the lowest of the students. It certainly can't be Northwick's taste in fashion or his blemish-ridden skin."

Acne is so working class, Gord thinks, grateful for his excellent genes and for his six-step daily skin regime.

"Ah," is Hopkins's only reply. He has the nerve to look smug, as well. 

A little flustered, Gord busies himself with placing the textbook inside his Aquaberry cross-chest satchel. "Look, if we're done here, Hopkins…"

"You don't seem the type to be homophobic."

"I'm not," Gord says tightly, his gaze still focussed on the bag. "If you want to kiss boys, then that's your business. Lord knows, you're kissing all the girls. Why not a little variety?" He attempts a frivolous laugh, but it comes out sounding rather strangled. "Northwick, though? I saw him kicking you just last week."

Through his peripheral vision, Gord sees Hopkins shrug. "He's a good kisser," he says simply. "And he says it's more fun kissing me than trying to beat me up."

"Your family life must be terrible for you to have such low standards."

It's a low blow, but Hopkins merely chuckles. "You got me there," he says. "At least I only kiss them, instead of marrying them, like my mom."

Gord ventures a glance at him. "Promiscuity runs in the family, then?"

"You tell me, Gord."

He frowns. "Mistresses are different. It's only to be expected that a man as powerful as my father should draw a lot of female attention."

"Right." This time Hopkins's smile is sympathetic, and Gord doesn't like it one bit, just as he doesn't like it when Hopkins drops his hand only to press one calloused finger lightly on Gord's bruised cheekbone. "Ice will help the bruising," he says. "Or a can of drink if you can't get it. Not a steak—that's just a movie thing. You don't want to get yourself eaten by Morris's dog."

"I _have_ had a black eye before, Hopkins."

"Then you know you'll be back to your usual handsome self in no time. That is, if you stay away from girls with boyfriends."

"I think I'll stay away from girls entirely."

Hopkins grins at him and raises an eyebrow and Gord realises the ambiguity of his words.

"Not like _that_ ," he begins, but Hopkins is already walking away from him, lifting a hand over his shoulder in goodbye as he heads towards Christy Martin, who is giving Hopkins the come-on from the other end of the hall. 

Gord turns away before he has to witness yet another display of Hopkins kissing. Hooking his bag over one shoulder, he heads in the direction of Harrington House to find himself some ice.


	3. Chapter 3

It's not that Gord pursues Lola Lombardi to get his father's attention. That is merely an unexpected side-effect, although one he finds quite enjoyable, if truth be told. Lola is simply the second-prettiest girl at Bullworth, after Mandy, and unlike Mandy, she doesn't let having a boyfriend get in the way of fun. Everyone knows that Lola's generous with her kisses, just as long as the boys who pursue her are equally generous with their gifts. If there's one thing that Gord's comfortable with, it's spending money, so he's far from surprised when Lola agrees to accompany him on a date.

Jimmy Hopkins isn't the only person at Bullworth who gets to go about kissing people, and Lola, as it turns out, is actually rather fun to be around. She's terribly materialistic, yes, but that's hardly a fault in Gord's eyes. If the rest of the greasers would admit that it's not that they don't _like_ nice things, but rather that they can't afford them, there would probably be less animosity between them and the preps. Lola's not as hung up on pride as the rest of her clique is. She's happy to point at a scarf or a necklace and ask for it, and Gord's happy to act the role of wealthy benefactor. It's not that he's buying her affections, he tells himself, but rather that he likes to buy things for pretty girls. 

He likes kissing Lola, too. It's different from kissing his cousins. Lola really puts her all into it, as though there's nothing she'd rather be doing, and she's not at all shy about taking charge. Gord thinks it must be nice to be poor and to not have to care about reputation. There's something so free about Lola and about Hopkins—like they're who they actually are, instead of what they choose to show. Around Lola, the real Gord feels closer to the surface, and that feels almost as dangerous, as _naughty_ , as having her tongue thrust down his throat. 

It's been weeks since Gord last heard from his father, save for a cash-filled Christmas card in a secretary's handwriting, so when he receives the letter, he takes it to his bedroom unopened so that he can be alone to savour the words. 

_Son,_ it reads.

_I have been informed that you have been seen in public with a girl beneath your station. I understand the lure of one's lessers—they are so very grateful for such insignificant attention—but you are a Vendome and you should know the importance of conducting your indiscretions behind closed doors. I do hope I will not have to say this a second time._

_Yours,_

_Gordon Vendome the Third._

Gord refolds the letter and places it in the drawer beside his bed. If kissing Lola Lombardi draws concern from his father, he thinks, then perhaps he'll have to kiss Lola some more.

But then Hopkins goes and ruins everything, as Hopkins is wont to do. 

#

There's a relatively flat section of roof to the rear of Harrington House that can be accessed by climbing an adjacent tree. Gord goes there occasionally when he wants time away from his friends. After his run-in with the greasers, it seems like a better place than most to nurse his wounds, especially as the other preps are annoyed at having been beaten, and annoyed with Gord in particular for being the reason for the fight. 

"All this for that strumpet?" Derby had asked him, his voice bearing the sneer that didn't show on his perfect, botoxed face. 

"She's just a girl," Gord had told him, because he couldn't very well explain to Derby that she was fun to be around.

"She's a greaser," Derby had replied, and Gord knew him well enough to hear the warning between the lines. 

It's not that he's sad about Lola, exactly. Sometimes, however, it feels like Gord's entire life has been decided _for_ him, regardless of his own wants and desires. He'll go to college, and then to law school, and take up a role in his father's firm. Once established, he'll marry a cousin and produce a son to carry on the family name. Gordon Vendome the Fifth, poor kid. With a name like that, your path's set out for you, whether you want to go that way or not. 

He lies back upon the roof tiles and stares up at the darkening sky. His knee aches where Johnny Vincent knocked him from his bike and his left cheek still burns from the firecracker that exploded far too close. He feels rather sorry for himself, if he's honest, and it's not because he'll not be kissing Lola again, as enjoyable as that might have been at the time. No, it's the betrayal that really irks him. He's never done a thing to Hopkins, but that didn't stop him throwing Gord right under the proverbial bus. 

The tree shakes wildly in front of him, and then—speak of the freckled devil—Hopkins clambers over the eaves. He drops down at Gord's side, shameless as always, and sits in silence, as though he has every right to be there. 

"You came to fling me from the rooftop, I suppose," Gord says finally. "Well, get it over with. I haven't got all night."

"What? No." 

It frustrates Gord that Hopkins's voice is always so free of emotion. How is he supposed to judge a situation when he'd be better off reading a rock?

"Well, unless you're here to apologise," he says, "I'd rather remain alone."

"Sorry," Hopkins says, surprising Gord. "It was a shitty thing to do."

"Too right it was!" Gord lowers his gaze to glare at him. "I may be scarred for _life_ due to your little game."

Maddeningly, Hopkins smiles. "By this?" he asks, lifting a hand to brush against Gord's left cheek. 

Odd, Gord thinks, that someone so brutish can be so gentle when he likes. "I'm sure facial disfigurement means nothing to the lower classes, but _some_ people have standards to uphold."

"You look fine, Gord." Hopkins traces the burn with one light finger, and Gord resists a sudden urge to press closer to his touch. "By next week, you'll have nothing to show for it."

"I hope you're right. I may be forced to sue you, otherwise."

"You're always saying I'm a pauper. Seems a bit pointless suing me, if that's the case."

"It's the principle of the matter."

"Then sue Johnny. Or Lola. She's the real cause of all this—not me."

"Lola didn't throw a firecracker at me—or lead me to my doom."

"Sure," Hopkins says. "But she had to know that Johnny would come after you, and it seems like she didn't much care."

Gord holds Hopkins's gaze, his jaw set, and brushes his hand away. "If you're trying to hurt me, Hopkins, you'll have to try harder. I don't have _feelings_ for Lola. She's a way of passing time."

Hopkins just looks right back at him. "Funny," he says. "You don't see the type."

"And what type _am_ I, pray tell?" Gord asks him, feeling increasingly irate. "Please—enlighten me, if you know me so very well!"

He shrugs, as stoic as ever. "Dunno," he says. "Loyal, maybe. You seemed pretty offended that I was kissing Trent and all those girls."

"What you choose to do with your mouth is of no interest to me."

"Unless it involves Trent Northwick."

"I'll admit I find your taste appalling," Gord says, "but there's no more to it than that."

"My tastes are pretty broad."

"Oh yes? Have you ever kissed a rich boy?" Gord asks him without thinking, and is repaid immediately by an annoying smirk.

"Nice line, Vendome," he says. "Did you use that on Lola?"

"Words are a little complicated for Lola. She mostly speaks in dollars and cents."

Hopkins laughs. "You're the one who bought her, Gord."

Gord glares at him, but it has no effect. 

"The answer's no, by the way. If you're interested."

Gord keeps his expression even. "In you? After what you did today?"

There's that smirk again. "In my answer. How about you, Gord? Have _you_ ever kissed a rich boy? Tad Spencer's always seemed the type."

"Tad? No thank you." Gord wrinkles his nose at the thought. "Unlike you, I don't go about kissing anyone I encounter. So no, I've never kissed a rich boy. I've never kissed a boy at all."

"Exactly," Hopkins says. "Like I said, you're loyal."

"Because I'm not promiscuous?"

"Because you like things to mean something."

"If I wanted it to mean something," Gord says firmly, "I wouldn't chase after Lola."

He looks at Gord like he doesn't believe him, but perhaps there's something in Gord's expression that convinces him, because finally something shifts slightly in Hopkins's gaze. 

"Regardless," he says, "I am sorry."

"As you should be. A gentleman never betrays his friends."

"Is that what we are?"

Gord frowns, a little flustered. "Apparently not."

He shrugs again. "I always figured you were flirting."

"Flirting! With you?" Gord looks at Hopkins, appalled. His shirt is half untucked and his Bullworth vest is covered in twigs and ink-stains. His hair looks like he cut it himself and his face beneath it is round and undefined, like an unfinished sculpture shaped from freckle-covered clay. Next to him, Gord must look like Adonis—even with the firecracker's mark upon his cheek.

"I'm charming," Hopkins says.

"You tried to kill me!"

He has the decency to look a little sheepish. "I just wanted the greasers off my back."

"I don't flirt with boys who betray me."

"Fine," he says. "You weren't flirting."

It's the truth, but Gord can't help but feel a little offended that he's given up so quickly. "You could at least sound sad about it," he says. "I'll have you know that I'm an excellent catch."

"Is that what your mother tells you?"

"If you're not polite to me, I'll push you off this roof."

Gord's in just the mood to do it, but Hopkins doesn't seem to mind the danger, as he scoots a little closer to Gord before he replies. "Flirt."

"You have a very warped idea of flirting, Hopkins."

He doesn't reply, but instead draws even closer, so close that Gord can feel the warmth of Hopkins's breath upon his face. 

"If you think I've forgiven you, Jimmy Hopkins—" he begins, but then Hopkins cuts him off by kissing him and knocking all further thought from his mind.

The kiss is like no other: somehow both gentle and passionate and never too wet, like sometimes it was with Lola. Gord finds himself pulling Hopkins towards him, his arms tight around the stocky bulk of Hopkins's body as Hopkins knots fingers through the length of Gord's hair and slides one leg between his thighs. Gord resists the urge to take it further, and just give himself to the moment, until he is boneless and breathless and his mouth is delightfully defiled. 

When Hopkins pulls away, the air feels colder. 

"So," he says. "What's it like kissing a pauper?"

Gord takes his hand and links their fingers together. "It might be slumming," he says, "but I like it."

"You're terrible," says Hopkins. "Do you forgive me, now?"

"Not in the slightest," Gord says, and kisses him again just to shut him up.


	4. Chapter 4

After that, they kiss quite often. At first, Gord tries to be somewhat discrete about it, but Hopkins has a bad habit of turning up in the Harrington House foreyard and Gord, to be fair, has a bad habit of not telling him to go away. Most days, Gord manages to lead Hopkins somewhere a little less open before succumbing to his hormones, but there are times when he struggles to care about appearances when the alternative is having Hopkins's arms wrapped tightly around him and the press of soft lips on his skin. 

All things considered, Gord is surprised that several weeks pass before Derby confronts him. The leader of the preps likes to think that nothing happens in Harrington House without his knowledge, but in reality he is often too busy thinking about Derby Harrington to take much notice of anyone else. None of the other chaps are the type to inform on Gord, so it's not until a particularly flagrant lapse that he finds himself defending his actions to Derby and the boys. 

"It's not that we care that you're gay," Derby begins, "but it reflects poorly on all of us when you choose to associate with unsavoury types."

Gord has spent hours mentally preparing for this encounter, but Derby's words knock all of his carefully-crafted responses from his mind. "What? I'm not gay."

The chaps all exchange knowing glances, but Bif is the one who opens his mouth. "It's fine, Gord," he says. "We've all known since we met you. There's no need to pretend."

"I dated Lola!" Gord argues, completely thrown by the direction that things have taken. "I almost touched her breast!"

"And now you're dating Jimmy Hopkins. You seem to have an aversion to your own kind." Derby looks as disgusted as if Gord had admitted an attraction to animals. 

"We're not dating," Gord says, and that's the truth of it. They kiss, and they talk a surprising amount—about things that Gord doesn't usually discuss with _anyone_ , like his father, and the divorce, and the creeping fear that he'll never be happy in his pre-determined life. Sometimes Hopkins even lets down a few of his own walls, which makes Gord feel oddly grateful, but they've never done anything that might be called a proper date. It's not that Gord would be entirely opposed to it, but he's aware that the arrangement they have is predicated on keeping things casual, regardless of what Gord might like. 

Hopkins isn't a one-person guy and Gord's known it from the beginning. He can have a piece of Hopkins or he can have none of him. It's just kissing, he tells himself. What does it matter if Hopkins kisses other people too?

"If you're not dating," Derby says, "then you won't mind desisting."

Gord's known Derby all his life, and has always done everything the older boy's told him to, in the hope of earning his begrudging respect. This, though, this he won't do, and the thought of rebelling fills him with an uneasy mix of exhilaration and dread.

"I do mind," he says. 

"Good," Derby replies, confident in Gord's obedience, before he realises what Gord's just said. The surprise briefly vanquishes his usual poise. "What did you say, Vendome?"

Gord thinks he might well vomit, but he forces himself to look Derby in the eye as he repeats himself. "I do mind," he says. "Whom I kiss is my business. Just because Pinky went out with Hopkins a few times, that's no reason to take it out on me."

"Pinky did _what_?"

It seems that Gord had misjudged Derby's knowledge of the matter. He feels a little bad about it, but the revelation still has the desired effect. If Derby condemns Gord for his indiscretions, he'll also be condemning his betrothed and he'd never do that and risk his father's ire. 

Derby turns to Bif. "Did you know about this?"

Bif looks a little sheepish. "I thought everyone did."

Derby lets out a growl of irritation. "I need to talk to Pinky," he says, before turning back to glare at Gord. "We'll discuss this matter again later."

Gord nods but he knows that this is the last he'll hear of it. Whether Derby will ever look at him the same way is another thing. Gord hates that other people's approval is so dependent on him never saying no. Perhaps that's why he's so reluctant to give up his trysts with Hopkins—he's never once asked Gord to do anything for him or to pretend that he's someone other than who he is. Gord might be one of many, but at least Hopkins _sees_ him.

And, given that people think they're dating anyway, he thinks he might as well ask Hopkins on an actual date. 

*

_Son,_

_I was displeased to learn from Maxwell Harrington that you have been embarrassing yourself once again. Teenage rebellion is unsuited to the monied classes. I trust that you will refrain from this foolishness immediately._

_Yours,_

_Gordon Vendome the Third._

*

Gord finds Hopkins outside the girls' dormitory, trampling recklessly on the garden beds as he plucks out a handful of flowers. When he catches sight of Gord, he grins shamelessly and thrusts the flowers toward him. 

"I got something for you."

Gord shakes his head, but he accepts them anyway. "I should've known you wouldn't actually spend money on me."

"I can if you want me to. I'm not as poor as you think I am, you know."

"And I suppose you run everybody's errands out of the goodness of your heart."

"That's me: Mister Goodness."

Gord flicks a spider from one of the flowers. "Mister Parsimonious, more like. I'd always wondered where you found a florist so utterly terrible at their job."

Hopkins curves an arm around Gord's waist. "My skills lie in other areas."

"Mm," Gord says between kisses. "I believe they do."

"What are you doing here?" Hopkins asks when they eventually break apart. "You don't seem the type for panty raids."

Gord wrinkles his nose. How distasteful. "I was looking for you."

"Did you miss me, Baby?"

"Please, Hopkins. I've told you what I think of your pick-up lines." Gord keeps his tone light, but there must be something in his expression that betrays him, because Hopkins looks unusually sheepish and reaches for Gord's hand. 

"Sorry," he says. "What were you after?"

"Well, that kiss, partially," Gord admits. "I didn't see you all weekend."

Hopkins opens his mouth, as though to offer an explanation, but Gord shakes his head to cut him off.

"No," he says, "I don't need to hear it. You're a free agent, Hopkins. I was just stating a fact."

There's more to it than that, and they both know it, but Gord isn't in the mood to hear who Hopkins was making out with and Hopkins is smart enough (barely) not to push. 

"You're seeing me now," he says instead.

"Yes, and a particularly scruffy sight it is, too. Do you have a religious objection to tucking your shirt in properly? Is having one side hanging out at all times a gesture of piety, or are you simply as slovenly as it seems?"

"You'll make some man an excellent wife one day, Vendome," he says, but he nonetheless makes a half-hearted effort to tidy himself up. 

"I expect you to look more respectable on our date this Friday," Gord tells him. 

Hopkins grins and shakes his head. "You have a funny way of asking a guy out."

"Asking implies you have any choice in the matter," Gord says, and it sounds as though he's joking, but actually he's not. 

"Friday," Hopkins says slowly, like he's mulling the concept over. "I think I'm free on Friday."

"Not any more. Dress _neatly_ ," Gord says, looking pointedly at the torn seam on Hopkins's shoulder. "I refuse to eat McDonalds because they won't let us into anywhere nice."

"Are you sure you want to be seen with me?"

Gord might be mistaken, but there seems to be something sharper beneath Hopkins's teasing smile. 

"As long as you tuck your shirt in," he says a little too lightly. "I'll meet you at the school gates at six."

"Okay, then. I'll see you there."

They shake on it for some reason, awkwardly, and Gord accidentally walks into the girls' dormitory before realising he's headed the wrong way.


	5. Chapter 5

Gord checks his mail on the way to meeting Hopkins and there's another letter from his father nestled between two Aquaberry catalogues. He's early, so he reads it while waiting for Hopkins, to distract himself from the suspicion that Hopkins might not turn up at all. 

_Gordon,_ it begins, and Gord wrinkles his nose at the sight of his hated full name.

_I am very disappointed in your continuing poor behaviour. You have had your fun, but if you expect to carry on the family name and inherit the family holdings, you will cease this shameful nonsense immediately and start to act as a Vendome should._

_Sincerely,_

_Gordon Vendome the Third._

Gord crumples the letter into a ball as soon as he finishes reading it, as though doing so will somehow erase the power of its words. He thinks back to the first letter, and to how stupidly pleased he was to receive any sign of his father having noticed him and wonders whether his father has ever truly known him at all. How could he, really, when Gord's entire life has centred around doing all that people ask of him? All those years of conformity, and now he's suddenly a disappointment because he's doing something for himself. If mindless acquiescence is the price of his inheritance, then perhaps it's time Gord faced the prospect of making his way on his own damn terms. 

Before he can drift too deeply into introspection, a solid body wraps around Gord, and warm lips press against the nape of his neck. He turns to greet Hopkins, and as he does so, Hopkins steals the letter from him, breaking down Gord's defences with an intelligence-draining kiss. 

"Don't," he says, as he realises what's happened.

Hopkins merely continues the process of smoothing out the screwed-up page. "Why so secretive?" he asks Gord. "You getting love letters from somebody else?"

"There _is_ nobody else, and you know it," Gord says. "It's boring family stuff, that's all."

Undeterred, Hopkins begins to read the letter aloud, but ceases as soon as he reaches the mid-point of the very first sentence. It's clear that he reads the rest silently, though, because when he meets Gord's eyes, there is a blatant look of sympathy written across his face.

"Don't," Gord says again, although this time he's not entirely sure what he's forbidding. Hopkins's pity, maybe. His own embarrassment. The creeping feeling of sadness deep within his chest. 

"Your daddy's a dick," Hopkins says, and Gord smiles despite himself.

"You have such a way with words, Hopkins."

"I don't see the point of dressing up the truth."

Gord feels as though he should be defending his father, but he's really not in the mood. "The perils of being wealthy," is all he says.

"If that's what being rich takes, it seems like it's more trouble than it's worth."

"You might be right, there," Gord says, and then firmly changes the subject. "Is that _Aquaberry_?" he asks, finally taking in Hopkins's appearance.

Grinning, Hopkins spins to show off his outfit. "Tucked in on all sides, see?"

"Very impressive." 

To be fair, the Aquaberry sweater looks a little out of place on Hopkins, like he's wearing a costume instead of normal clothes, but Gord appreciates the gesture. It shows that Hopkins is more thoughtful than he generally likes to seem.

"The wool itches," Hopkins says. "I don't know how you wear this crap every day."

"One must suffer for fashion," Gord says, and reaches for Hopkins's hand. 

Unfortunately, it's the hand that's still holding the letter, and they both stare at it awkwardly for a moment before Hopkins makes a kind of growling noise and then tears the paper into tiny, uneven pieces. Gord is thrilled and frightened by his audacity; he can't decide whether to hope that none of his father's spies are watching or to jump Hopkins right then and there. 

In the end, the latter urge is victorious, but he restrains himself to a particularly heated kiss.

"Remind me to destroy your things more often," Hopkins says when he can breathe again.

"Touch my wardrobe and I'll murder you," Gord says, only partially joking. "Now, we'd better get moving if we don't want to be late for the reservation I've made."

They walk hand-in-hand to the restaurant, an attractive French bistro in the middle of Old Bullworth. It's closer than Gord would like to one of his father's hotels, but he's determined not to let his date be ruined, so he forces himself to keep hold of Hopkins as they pass by the hotel doors.

Once they're seated and eating, he begins to feel less anxious. The food at the bistro is always excellent and Hopkins is good company, even if his table manners are not quite up to scratch. For most of the meal, they talk about everyday mundanities, carefully avoiding any reference to the letter or to anything of similar import. Occasionally, Gord finds himself looking across at Hopkins, happy just to be there with him, and he wonders when it was that this scruffy, round-faced boy became so appealing to him. He thinks that perhaps this might be more to him than kisses and rebellion. It's confronting, but he doesn't shy away from it. It's rather nice to feel something on his own terms for a change.

And then dessert comes and Hopkins ruins everything, as Hopkins always does. 

"I like you, Gord," he says, and a surge of warmth floods through Gord, only to be vanquished as he goes on. "I like you, but I think we should stop this."

Gord takes a moment to compose himself and to let the full bleakness of Hopkins's words set in. "Why?" he asks, disliking the plaintive tone of his words but unable to sound as callous as he'd like. "I think tonight's been most enjoyable. Even if you _did_ use the desert spoon to eat your soup."

Hopkins smiles, but there's that pity again. Gord wants to wipe it from his face. "A spoon's a spoon," he says, "and I had fun. I really did."

"Then _why_? I don't always expect you to dress up, you know. Truth be told, I think I prefer it when you look more like your usual self."

Hopkins sighs. "You're not making this any easier, Gord."

"I'm not attempting to."

"I mean it. I do like you. For a rich boy obsessed with clothing, you're actually pretty cool."

"I'm also an excellent kisser," Gord interjects.

"The best," Hopkins says, without smiling, and coming from him, that's pretty high praise. 

"Then why settle for less?" Gord asks, and he's aware he's getting dangerously close to begging, but he just doesn't understand why Hopkins is being so bull-headed about this when it's obvious that Gord's such an excellent catch.

"Because you have bigger things going on right now. This stuff with your father—it's huge, Gord, and you need to deal with that as a thing that's separate from me."

"I'd rather not deal with it at all," Gord mutters. 

Hopkins takes his hand across the table. "But you have to," he says. "And dating me? That'll just muddy the waters. I don't want you to do the wrong thing out of loyalty. Loyalty to him, _or_ loyalty to me."

"There's that word again."

"It's not an insult. The world would be a better place if more people were as loyal as you are. But it seems to me that you're at a kind of crossroads. And you need to choose the direction that's right for you, not just for this moment, but for where you want to be in the future. You don't want your hormones getting in the way of that."

"I'm not here because of my _hormones_ , Hopkins," Gord says. "I'm not the one making out with half the school."

Something shifts in Hopkins's expression. "I know," he says. "Which is why we need to stop this."

"Because you're worried my problems will interfere with your promiscuity?"

Hopkins smiles, but there's a sadness in it. "Sure," he says, "if that makes this easier for you."

"None of this is _easy_ , Jimmy."

If he catches Gord's accidental use of his first name, Hopkins is good enough not to acknowledge it. "I know," he says, and he squeezes Gord's hand tightly before letting it go.


	6. Chapter 6

Gord feels sad only briefly before directing his tangle of emotion into the rather more satisfying form of anger. That he finds far more comfortable, so he holds onto it for months, bearing it as a kind of shield so that he doesn't have to examine why it matters so much to him that Hopkins has cast him aside. 

When Gary Smith turns the entire school against Hopkins, Gord feels only the slightest pang of guilt when he sides with Derby. The prep leader is arrogant and dictatorial, but he's also Gord's friend, and _he_ didn't just ditch Gord because Gord's father is overbearing. (He'd be a hypocrite if he did; as far as Gord can tell, Maxwell Harrington is a hundred times worse.)

Bullworth goes up in flames, both literally and metaphorically, and somehow Hopkins ends up back on top once the fire's quenched. Gord pretends he doesn't feel a pang of sick jealousy when that townie girl kisses Hopkins in front of everyone, as though she has some kind of claim over him. The sight bothers him for most of a week, but then he spots Hopkins with Angie Ng in the library forecourt and he realises that nothing much has changed. 

He spends the summer with his mother, in his favourite of their holiday houses: a beach-front property in Malibu where he tans dark enough to be mistaken for a labourer, albeit one dressed in designer resort wear and wearing thousand-dollar shades. He sees and hears nothing of his father. His mother spoils him twice as much, as if to compensate for his father's absence, but Gord realises with a jolt of sadness that things are not so very different from what they were before his father left. 

When he returns to Bullworth for his junior year, Gord half expects to find a stack of letters from his father awaiting him, but there are only the usual catalogues and postal offers—not even so much as a postcard with no real message, just a scrawled "wish you were here".

It strikes him, then, that his father has time for him only when he considers Gord non-compliant. To him, it must surely seem as though Gord has heeded his warning, but there is no note of praise or even acknowledgement. Gord is no longer embarrassing him, so he can push Gord from his mind.

Gord thinks of all the times he's defended his father: to his mother, to Hopkins, to his friends. "It's just that he's busy," he's said a thousand times. "You can't expect a man of his standing to have as much time for family; he has important things to do." As though Gord himself isn't important. As though his entire worth is contained in dressing well and obeying his father's orders, and in never showing the slightest hint of subversion by kissing a non-wealthy boy.

Gord _is_ loyal, he realises, perhaps to a fault. On this count, at least, Hopkins was right, although it was a dick move for him to dump Gord for it. Just another case of someone deciding _for_ him, and Gord's had enough of that to last him a lifetime. His anger has faded almost to nothing, but that part of things still heats him up inside. It's all in the past now, though, or at least that's what he tells himself—and tells himself particularly loudly whenever Hopkins nods awkwardly at him as they pass each other by.

He concentrates on his schoolwork and on his boxing and sends weekly letters to his mother, who replies promptly on perfumed paper and asks him repeatedly whether he's dating anyone, without dictating whom that anyone should be. His answer is always negative but then, in the middle of winter, Gord is asked out on a date.

Vance is a greaser, which irritates Derby, but he's also rather handsome and endearingly well-mannered for someone who spends most of his life messing about with bikes. Gord surprises himself by accepting the offer, and they dine at a tiny Italian restaurant in New Coventry, which offers hideous décor and incredible food.

There's a hint of the old excitement there, from being in a place so utterly forbidden, but it's no longer the thing that drives Gord. Vance is good company and it's his sincerity that Gord is drawn to, not his ability to prompt Gord's father's ire. There's no spark, which quickly becomes clear to both of them, but they have more in common than Gord would have thought possible and he thinks they might become friends.

After dinner, they walk back to school together and, when they part, Vance gives him a gentlemanly kiss on the cheek. All in all, it's an enjoyable evening, right up to the moment when Gord turns to find Jimmy Hopkins watching him with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Hopkins," he says, nodding a greeting, then walks right past him in the direction of Harrington House.

*

_Gordon,_

_I had thought that we had reached an understanding, but your behaviour continues to be unacceptable. If you do not start acting like a Vendome, you will find yourself living in New Coventry, not merely visiting the place. _

_Sincerely,_

_Gordon Vendome the Third._

Gord reads the letter through a second time, waiting to feel the expected pang of shame and sadness, but instead all that fills him is a strong sensation of release. Digging in the top drawer of his bedroom desk, he retrieves pen and paper, and composes a letter of his own:

_Father,_

_In the past eighteen months, I have heard from you only when you wished to chide me for not acting according to your standards. I have not received a letter congratulating me for my marks, nor a birthday phone call, and you certainly haven't made time to see me in person, not even over summer when you couldn't use my schoolwork as an excuse. Frankly, I don't really care what you think of my behaviour. If being a Vendome means caring more for appearances than for one's own family, then I don't much care to be a Vendome at all._

_Your son (whether you like it or not),_

_Gord._

*

Hopkins finds him in a café in Old Bullworth. Gord's in a rooftop kind of mood, but it snowed heavily the previous evening and not even father-related frustration is enough to make him risk breaking his leg by slipping on roof-tiles covered in ice. The café still offers him more privacy than the interior of Harrington House does, and he's given a table right next to the fireplace, which makes things rather cosy.

Hopkins looks out of place amidst the café's refined décor and well-dressed customers. His shirt is tucked in, which is practically a miracle, but there's a black mark on his trousers that looks oddly like charcoal and the cuffs of his sweater sit two inches too high on his arms. He takes the empty chair at Gord's table without being offered it and orders a hot chocolate when the waitress comes to serve him, wearing an undisguised look of disdain.

"I don't know why she's so full of herself," he says instead of greeting Gord. "She's a waitress, not the damn queen."

Gord almost laughs, but catches it in his throat. "You _are_ looking rather dishevelled," he says. "And I came here in search of solitude."

"I guess you'll have to keep looking, then." Hopkins nods his thanks as the hot chocolate is placed in front of him—a decadent concoction covered in shaved chocolate and marshmallow—and then goes on as though he hasn’t just been dismissed. "So, you and Vance, eh?"

"I hardly see how that is any of your business," Gord says, although the thought of Hopkins possibly, just possibly, feeling jealous is like a beacon burning hot within his chest. 

"I've kissed him, too," Hopkins says.

Gord rolls his eyes. "You've kissed everyone."

"Not everyone."

"Near enough."

"I'm just saying you might want to think about whether he's worth you falling for."

"Because he's kissed you a few times?" Gord looks at Hopkins, incredulous. "That would be a bit hypocritical, don't you think?"

Hopkins shifts in his chair, his gaze firmly focussed on his hot chocolate. "If you're going to go against your father, it should be for someone you can rely on."

"Hence the disappearing act, I suppose?" Gord had thought that he was over his anger, but here it is again, welling up inside him like it's been hiding in there all along. "Everyone knows you're afraid of commitment, Hopkins. You're so quick to interfere in other people's problems, but you're just as quick to shy away from your own. One day you should ask yourself just why it is you feel the need to keep everyone at arm's length. You can pretend you keep your little harem because you're so damn virile, but everyone knows it's because you don't want to get close to anyone, in case they leave you like your father did. Like your mother does every time she marries some new man."

Hopkins just sits there as the words pour from Gord. 

"Vance and I went on one date," he finishes. "One. He's a nice guy, but there's nothing between us. And whom I date is none of my father's business, even if there was."

Hopkins finally looks up at that. "So you're not with Vance, now?"

"I just said that, didn't I? He's all yours, if he's fool enough to chase after you."

He reaches across the table to grab Gord's hand, as though Gord hasn't just spent five minutes berating him. "I don't care about Vance," he says.

"Then perhaps you should stop kissing him."

"If you've sorted though the stuff with your father, I could go back to kissing you, instead."

It's not that Gord's not tempted. Sitting there, across from Hopkins, all the old feelings are there again, if they ever even faded at all. He doesn't understand why it is that Hopkins has this pull over him, but whatever the reason, the pull is there, and if Gord were a year younger and a year less jaded, he'd probably succumb to it. As it is, though, he tugs his hand free of Hopkins's grasp and uses it to pick up his own drink so that he won't be tempted to give it back.

"Like you said, Hopkins: I'm loyal. I'm not interested in kissing anyone who'll let me; if I kiss someone, it'll be because I like them, and if I like them, then I have no need to kiss anybody else." Gord pauses, his resolve wavering, but he forces himself to go on. "If I'm loyal, then I think I deserve to be with someone who's willing to be loyal too."

"I can be loyal," Hopkins argues.

"Can you?" Gord shakes his head. "I don't think you can, Jimmy. As much as I might wish you could."

Gord finishes his drink and then stands, taking a moment to button up his jacket and to wind his scarf around his neck. "Besides," he says, "it seems to me like you have bigger things to deal with. Dating me would just muddy the waters."

Hopkins just looks at him, his hand still resting on the table top. "I didn't mean to hurt you," he says finally.

"I know," Gord admits, "but you still did."

He pays for Hopkins's drink along with his own meal and leaves a large tip for the waitress.


	7. Chapter 7

In the week after their encounter at the café, Gord sees Jimmy Hopkins kissing more people than he's ever kissed before. If Gord had been feeling any doubts over his actions, Hopkins's behaviour quickly vanquishes them. If he's truly honest with himself, he's a little disappointed. Despite everything, he'd allowed himself to hope that his anger might have sparked feelings in Hopkins that obviously had never been there. 

He realises, then, that he's spent the last year and a half watching Hopkins. He'll never get over Jimmy if he doesn't stop looking for him—and so he allows himself one final glance and then calls upon every last ounce of his self-resolve and quickly walks away.

#

Hopkins comes to him just as spring is turning into summer. The sky is dotted with cotton candy clouds, the air is scented with flowers and the roof tiles are warm beneath Gord's back, heated by the morning sun. Soon, his penultimate year at Bullworth will be over, and then he'll be off on summer vacation with his freshly-divorced mother. The Malibu house is hers now, along with the family home and several investment holdings, and Gord is in no danger of becoming a pauper if his father makes good on his threats to write his son out of his will. 

Hopkins has grown over the past few months, and it looks like he might have caught up with the growth spurt Gord had the previous fall. His clothing fits him even more poorly than usual: too short in the arm and the leg, and looser around the middle, where he's lost some puppy fat. For a moment, Gord feels a little self-conscious of his own slender body—he just has skin where Hopkins has grown muscles—but then he remembers that he doesn't care about Hopkins's opinion of him any more.

At least, that's what he's been telling himself. Sometimes every day.

"Please don't throw me off," Hopkins says by way of greeting.

"I'd never be so unrefined."

They stare awkwardly at each other for a while before Gord gives in and waves to the stretch of roof beside him. Hopkins sits, a broad space between them, and looks off into the distance.

"Bullworth almost looks nice, this time of year," he says.

Gord's not interested in small talk. "I doubt you came up here to give me your opinion on Bullworth's appearance," he says. 

"You're right," Hopkins says, but he doesn't turn to look at Gord. "I came up here to say that it's three months to the day since I last kissed anyone. I've been keeping track of it. I figured three months says something. A quarter of a year."

"And you're telling me this why?" Gord asks, to disguise the knot of sudden _feeling_ in his chest. "To gain my sympathy?"

"To tell you that you were right." And finally Hopkins looks at Gord, and there's an odd kind of vulnerability showing in his eyes—an odd tentativeness to the way he speaks. "At first, I was angry. With you, with myself maybe, with this whole stupid school and this whole stupid life. And the first thing I did when you left me that day was go and find Zoe… and then Christy, and Kirby and a whole bunch of kids I couldn't even name."

"I noticed," Gord says, and what isn't there in his words is clear in the sound of his voice. 

"I _wanted_ you to notice. That's shitty, isn't it?"

Gord sees no reason to correct him.

"After a few days, though, I guess I started thinking about all the things you'd said. And then the thinking made me want to kiss _more_ people, which made me _think_ some more, and the whole situation was just one giant goddamn mess."

He pauses for a while, and looks away from Gord, the fingers of his right hand tapping distractedly on the stretch of tiles between them. 

"You were right," he says again, his eyes still fixed on some distant object. "I used to kiss all those people because that way no one would want more from me—because that way I wouldn't start to care about any of them, because it was only kissing. Kissing was safe. At least, it was meant to be."

"It strikes me," Gord says, as a gesture of forgiveness, "that parents have a lot to answer for."

Hopkins lets out a brief "heh" of acknowledgement. "My mom's getting divorced again," he says like it's an everyday occurrence, which for him, Gord realises, it kind of is. "I can't say I'll be sad to see the back of the latest husband. He was almost as bad as the original."

"Your father?"

"If you can call him that."

"If it helps, _my_ father is currently refusing to speak to me. He apparently thinks that carrying on like a toddler will prove effective where threats to disinherit me failed."

"You're ballsy, Gord," Hopkins says. "I never would've guessed it when I met you, but boy did you prove me wrong."

"To be fair, you met me in a hedge, hiding from a bully."

" _Secluding_ us," Hopkins corrects him, and Gord can't help but smile at the confirmation that Hopkins remembers the occasion so well.

"It seems so long ago," he says.

"It is." Hopkins finally turns back to look at him. "The way I see it, a year at Bullworth is like half a lifetime anywhere else."

"It certainly feels like it, a lot of the time."

Hopkins nods and shifts his position so that he's facing Gord more fully. "It does," he says, "except when I'm with you."

Gord can feel his defences crumbling, but he forces himself to remain strong in the face of the Hopkins onslaught. "You know what I think about your lines, Jimmy."

"It's not a line if it's the truth."

"You have a funny way of showing it," Gord says, but he doesn't protest when Hopkins takes his hand.

"Kissing you was never safe," he says, "but I kissed you anyway. And I was honestly trying to do the right thing last year, with all of that mess with your father."

"I know," Gord says, and he does know it, now that the anger and the sadness have run their course. 

Hopkins lifts their joined hands and stares at them, as though they'll offer him insight or courage. "I'm loyal too," he says finally, so quietly that Gord can barely make out the words. "I know it hasn't seemed that way, but I am. I think it's what messed me up so much."

"You and me both," Gord says.

When they kiss, it's both new and familiar, the same old motions but new understandings and new emotions intertwining with the act. Gord feels like he could lose himself in this—in the kiss, in Jimmy, in what it is that's now between them—but this time he knows he can find himself again if anything should go wrong. 

There's more to talk about and more to let go of, but they have the whole future to do that in. Right now, they are seventeen and so in love, and making up for lost time.


End file.
